KindRed: Close Quarters
by Lesalanna
Summary: Multichapter sequel, if you will, to KindRed. What will happen when Gibbs and Jane meet face to face and work together? Hurt, or healing? Please R&R!
1. Red Sand

_Disclaimer: Everything you recognize is not mine!_

_Why yes, I decided to make a multichapter fic after my KindRed premise. I liked the scenario, so I went with it. There will be pairings, one is point blank obvious even in this first chapter. I'll try to keep it more Mentalist than NCIS, but can't promise anything, as I know my NCIS crew better than my Mentalist. Either way, enjoy!  
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They made an odd sight on the bikini-clad beach.

Seven Roman Catholic nuns in summer habit and one pigtailed Goth woman, dressed to bare nearly all, carrying a bag containing a bottle of SPF 75 and a black lace parasol. The nuns were gawked at as they tried their hand at beach volleyball with a black, skull printed inflatable beach ball. The woman was wolf-whistled as she went for a dive, keeping the ball from the sand. Her _assets_ had shown themselves off marvelously during the play according to many watching. Some thought it, then prayed for forgiveness. The woman was playing with nuns, after all.

Abigail Scuito stood and growled, brushing the sand off of her chest and stomach. _Sand-burn, ouch!_ She turned with a lopsided smile to Sister Mary Clarence who tutted, "I told you to put some clothes on, girl! Now look what you've done!"

"Sorry, Sister…and it's my skin, it'll heal. No harm, no foul. Nice spike, by the way."

"Thanks." The nun's teeth were a flash of white in her dark face, "Never expected you'd be able to drag this group of fuddy-duddies out here anyway; when's the last time any of them have even _seen _a beach? I'm not even gonna try to guess when_ you_ last saw surfers." The nun moved swiftly, returning the ball to the other side of the court.

"It was probably a while for most of them," Abby said as she set the spike, "seeing as DC's not known for its beaches. I'm just glad you managed to convince your Mother Superior to let you join us."

"_Let _me? Oh, honey, you've got a lot to learn about my Mother Superior." The nun spat out a mouthful of sand, brushing down her habit idly. "She's the one who just blocked your spike."

"Ah. Up for a game herself, then?"

"Quite. Her and Sister Mary Roberts and Sister Mary Patrick are a lively group, once you convince Mother it's worth it to have fun, of course."

"Of course." Abby agreed, catching the ball instead of hitting it back. Something beyond the nuns on the other side of the net was...wrong. What was it? She ventured over, ducked under the net and towards the man that had caught her attention.

He was kinda cute, in a military way. The required buzz-cut and dog-tags gave him away, as did the "Semper Fi" tattoo across his bicep. His eyes were Gibbs-blue, but that wasn't it, either…what was it? That was when it came to her. His eyes. They were dead.

He was dead. Shit.

Abby realized she must have spoken the last as Sister Mary Clarence whipped a cell phone out of her habit pocket, punching in 911. Abby scrabbled in her bag, ripping out her own phone and speed-dialing automatically.

"_Hey, Abs." _She'd never quite realized how calming his voice was to her until now. _"What's up?" _Thank God he'd picked up.

"Well…"

--

Alone in the silence of his elevator "office", NCIS Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs took a moment to crack his neck and pop his shoulder. Ahh, that was much better. He wouldn't admit this to anyone, but he was getting to feel the strain he put on his body day after day. One of the reasons he didn't do as much of the "tackle and take down" on the criminals any more. Too likely he'd hurt himself.

Now, he didn't mind Abby fawning over him when he got hurt. He would just prefer to be able to remain on the job. Thinking about Abby got him hoping she was enjoying her vacation. The thought of her constantly surrounded by her bowling-nuns caused his lips to twitch. A persistent ring brought him out of his thoughts. He didn't even have to glance at the screen to know who it was. She'd been the one to program his phone to play _The Addams Family_ when she called.

"Hey, Abs. What's up?"

"_Well…" _The hesitation in her voice made him pause. Abby, _his _Abby, Miss "Mile-A-Minute" was hesitating before speaking? Something had to be wrong. Very wrong.

"Abby, is everything ok?"

"_Yeah, we're all fine, butIfoundadeadguyonthebeachwhenwewereplayingbeachvolleyballandthepolicehavebeencalledbutthedeadmanisaMarinesowecouldinvest -"_

Oh boy. He gave himself credit for understanding even part of that. "Abby, calm down and slow down. Are the police there yet?"

"_No…but if you can get me talking to Ducky I borrowed a video camera, and I think I just rigged it to play on the second video feed from Autopsy to my lab, so he can take a look at the body. The problem would be there's no sound from his end to mine, where I need it. One of the sisters here has my camera, she's taking photos where I think we need them, but I want Ducky to corroborate me."_

"Ok, Abby, I was on my way down to see him. We caught Seaman Johnson's murderer, turns out it was his brother. Would have gone a lot faster if you were here."

"_Oh, Gibbs," _her near-coo of his name made it hard for him to not laugh, _"that's sweet of you to say. Now get me Ducky!"_

"Working on it, I can't make the elevator move any faster than it is, Abby." She took the warning in his voice to heart, and remained silent the rest of the way down. "I don't think you should be doing this…"

"_But I'm like a first responder, Gibbs, I've got to. Besides, I'm too curious for my own good, you know that!" _He chuckled appreciatively at her tone, shaking his head. _"That's it, laugh, my silver-haired fox. You'll see when I come back home just how much you laugh then." _Her purred words caused his next chuckle to die in his throat. Damn it! He stepped through the near-silent doors to Autopsy, the steel tables shining sinisterly under lamps. Neither man in the suite had noticed his approach.

"I'm putting you on speaker, Abby. So watch it. Yes, it's just Ducky and Palmer, but still…" The elder of the two men relaxing in the office jumped to attention at his nickname, while the second looked up briefly before returning to his book, glasses perched crooked on his nose. Jimmy Palmer looked uncomfortably cramped in his chair, Gibbs thought, before returning his attention to the matter at hand.

"_Alright. Hi, Ducky!" _The voice of the nearly ever-perky forensic scientist made the Scotsman pause in his address to Gibbs.

"Hello, Abigail. I do hope you're enjoying your vacation. What brings you to speak to me?" Dr. Donald "Ducky" Mallard glanced at the phone in his taller friend's hand, gesturing for Gibbs to place it on his desk.

"_I've got a dead Marine out here. Could you turn your video-feed to channel two? You should be able to see me then."_ In a moment, the pair could indeed see the face of their green-eyed Goth.

"We've got you, Abs. Now show us what you have." Gibbs commanded her briefly, resisting the urge to do or to say anything that might make his companions in the room suspicious. But damn, she looked good in her bikini!

The forensic scientist began panning down the dead man's body, stopping where Ducky wanted a better look. _"Dogtags say he's Private Collin Fairbanks."_ Gibbs borrowed Ducky's phone to relay the information up to his team, then retook his place in front of the monitor. _"…I'm having Sister take pictures worthy of one of your meat puzzles, Ducky. And don't worry, Gibbs, I'm having her stay in one spot, I know the importance of not contaminating the crime scene." _The camera whipped over to the woman standing beside Abby, causing the men watching to go dizzy until it leveled out at the face of a black nun. She paused a moment, waved, readjusted her wimple, then went back to her pictures. Another whip brought the camera back to the body.

By this point Jimmy had gotten curious, put down his book and extricated himself from his chair. "Dr. Mallard, could I talk to Abby? I think I've spotted something." The elder gentleman nodded his agreement, adjusting his plaid bowtie. Jimmy needed more practice doing work like this himself, all the better for him to become a full fledged medical examiner.

"Abby," the bespectacled assistant asked, "what's in his right hand?"

"_Um…_" She zoomed in on the paper there. _"Looks like a ticket stub from the Boardwalk. The Sisters and I were planning on going there after we finished our game, but-"_

"Abby!" Gibbs warned; this wasn't time for her to go into one of her tangents. Then again, it would be worse for Ducky to start in on one of his.

"_But now we can't, because of the dead Private! You should have let me finish, Gibbs!"_

He tried to think of something to counter her reply, but before he could get a word in edgewise, there was a faint shout from the other end of the line. _"Hey, you can't be there, this is a crime scene!" _The camera flailed around until it was focused on a dark haired woman who was striding towards Abby, another woman and two men following close behind, all with hands on their weapons. There was a fifth person trailing slowly behind them, his hair glinting in the sun. Must be a blond.

"_Dang, the police are here! Gibbs, you'd better get yourself up to Vance and tell him I need you, otherwise he'll be stuck with Mr. "Sound-of-Music" as his forensic scientist for a month at least. Love you! Thanks Ducky and Jimmy, bye now, call me later!" _Her cell phone and the video feed were cut at nearly the same instant, causing the three men to look at each other and respond in their own ways.

Jimmy and Ducky let out identical sighs and shook their heads. Gibbs cursed, then turned and left the Autopsy suite, calling over his shoulder, "You two really need to get out more, you're acting more alike than a married couple!"

The ME and his assistant shared a sidelong glance, the silence broken by Ducky's statement, "I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Palmer, but I told you he would discover our secret. Shall we call the engagement off?"

"_Dr. Mallard!"_

--

Rigsby was still grumbling about Jane's latest prank when they got to the scene. How was the consultant supposed to know the other man had an unholy fear of fighting fish?

Van Pelt thought they were cute, the way they puffed up when you put a mirror in front of them. Cho had thought the fish was like Jane, they both puffed up in front of mirrors. Rigsby had crawled under his desk and refused to move until Jane took the offending betta to Lisbon's office.

The team leader had been surprised to get the "early birthday present", but graciously accepted the water-filled vase and its blue occupant. The fish was now named auspiciously Polly, short for Police. A great team leader Lisbon might be, Jane reflected, but she wasn't the most creative. He'd been thinking more along the lines of Prospero or Neptune. Something interesting, at the very least!

Jane was the first to speak when they stepped down from the boardwalk and saw their crime scene.

"Now this is the first time I've seen _that_!"

"I think this is the first time any of us have seen that, Jane," Cho responded.

It was, without a doubt, one of the oddest scenes any of them had seen. And this group had seen some pretty odd ones. Six nuns held a perimeter of twenty feet. They had untied their habit-belts and now grasped them by the ends, as one would when trying to swing while playing double-dutch jump-rope. The habits themselves were swaying lightly in the breeze because of this, but the nuns didn't move. In the center of this circle was their victim, who was himself surrounded by a nun with a camera and a woman, whose Celtic cross tattoo was grazed by her black bikini top and bottom. That woman held a cellphone in one hand and a video camera in the other, something silver on her neck glinting in the sunlight. They could see her mouth moving quite quickly as she spoke.

The team watched, all but spellbound as the woman turned to the nun for a moment, then back to the victim. The breeze finally carried her voice to them as they gazed down at her from the dune.

"...from the Boardwalk. The Sisters and I were planning on going there after we finished our game, but-but now we can't, because of the dead Private! You should have let me finish, Gibbs!"

Lisbon finally seemed to break the spell, and strode forward, calling out sharply, "Hey, you can't be there, this is a crime scene!"

The woman turned, pigtails whacking her face as she caught them all in the camera. "Dang, the police are here! Gibbs, you'd better get yourself up to Vance and tell him I need you, otherwise he'll be stuck with Mr. "Sound-of-Music" as his forensic scientist for a month at least. Love you! Thanks Ducky and Jimmy, bye now, call me later!" The phone was quickly shut and video camera turned off. The nun continued to take pictures.

"Sister, please stop the photography." Van Pelt tried to plead with the good woman.

"Give me a minute, sweetheart. I've just got to get his feet." Five or six pictures later, the habit-clothed woman stood, turned off her camera and handed it to the Goth woman. "Here, Abby."

The woman nodded, and turned her attention to the agents ranged in a loose semi-circle around her. Jane was busy talking to one of the parameter nuns.

Before Lisbon could get a word in, the woman piped up, "You all may want to take three steps back exactly…otherwise you might contaminate the crime scene."

Rigsby had had it with this hooligan woman. "And you and the nun didn't? We can have you arrested for tampering with evidence!"

"No, we stayed in one spot, walked in straight and will leave in that exact route. Better yet, we haven't touched anything, only photographed it, I know damn well how you aren't supposed to touch anything, officer!"

"Why, did you _watch it on TV?_" Rigsby asked snidely. The woman kept talking as if she hadn't heard him, only turning to glare at her assailant as she spoke, green eyes darkening in anger. Jane merely smirked at Lisbon, Van Pelt and Cho's pained expressions. Rigsby was just digging himself even deeper, poor man.

"And for your information, "the nun" is Sister Mary Clarence of the Sisters of St. Joseph of the Third Order of Saint Francis from San Fransisco. Around you are her fellow sisters Mary Roberts and Mary Patrick, and their Mother Superior. The remaining nuns are sisters Lucy, Rosita and Elizabeth of the Poor Clares of Perpetual Adoration from Washington, DC. I'm Abigail Scuito, NCIS Forensic Specialist."

That was when Jane chose to speak. "Really, Rigsby, did you have to antagonize her? I could have told you all of that without getting the fair Miss Scuito's back up. Nice cross, by the way. Patrick Jane, consultant for the CBI."

"Why thank you," she met his grin with a matching one, a combination of the charismatic 'trust-me' smile Jane was known for added to her own cheery 'yes, I bite, if you want me to', "but please, call me Abby. You don't seem to be an inker yourself." Her grip was firm and slightly sweaty, not the limpwristed shake so many women seemed to prefer.

"No, I'm not, Abby." Jane said, staying where he was, and motioning the others back. "But I am an admirer of beauty in all its forms, and that cross is quite gorgeous; as is your spiderweb. Although I can't see that one fully…."

"Oh, right, my collar. Sorry, it's locked; you won't get to see my full tat until I get my key, which should hopefully be on its way here now…as long as my Director isn't an idiot."

"Huh?" Cho asked, and then looked closer at the piece of leather encircling the Goth's neck. Black with red stitching, it gladly proclaimed "NCIS LAB RAT" for all to read, surmounted by two silvery spikes on either side of the words. Abby chose this moment to shift her weight to her other foot, showcasing the NCIS shield tucked into her bikini bottom.

Lisbon saved the other woman from her male colleagues' next comments by asking pointedly, "Your key? And you still haven't explained what you're doing at this crime scene."

"Oh, um, well…the key, or the copy, rather, is in the possession of my friend and NCIS Special Agent, Gibbs, 'cause I lost my key on the plane. He should be talking to Director Vance and getting permission to come help, as I did find the body and am the only good forensic scientist in the DC area who's willing to work for government wages and has my level of clearance, so he's gonna want me back soon. As for what I'm doing here, I found the body, like I said. The Sisters and I were playing beach volleyball when I realized I was being stared at…" Her returning glare prevented any comment from Rigsby, though his lips twitched with a held back remark. Jane meanwhile had a smile blooming from ear to ear at his teammate's predicament. "So I went over to give him a piece of my mind, and realized he was dead." Now was not the time to mention that she'd felt something _wrong_ about his stare, not just in a hinky way, but that he was dead. She'd tell that to Gibbs first. He would understand.

"But the pictures and video?"

"I contacted our ME, Dr. Mallard and took him through the body as well as I could being across the country. The pictures are also for him, to reconstruct the body. This could be considered an NCIS case; the deceased is Private Collin Fairbanks, Marine."

Lisbon stood there sputtering, as Abby went on. "Of course, I would be willing to ask if this could be a joint investigation if I had some things done for me first." Expecting a "what" and getting none in return, she continued on, irritated, "I'd like to know your names. It would be one thing if you were polite at least, like Mr. Jane," here she nodded in his direction, and he bowed, "but you haven't been, not all of you." Her pointed glare finally made Rigsby wince. Lisbon wouldn't like it if the case was taken out of their jurisdiction because he got a Fed mad at him. He'd be hearing about it for months.

"Sorry, Miss-Abby. I'm Teresa Lisbon, this is Grace Van Pelt and Kimball Cho. The man you're making friends with so well is Wayne Rigsby. We're CBI agents. You've already had our consultant's pleasure."

"Thank you, Agent Lisbon. Now then, am I going to be brought in for questioning, since I already answered all the questions I could suppose you'd ask me?"

"You won't be unwillingly brought in, but any help you and NCIS can bring to the case will be greatly appreciated."

"Of course, I'm sure we'd be glad to help...I can't guarantee that, but I can guarantee that if your Agent Rigsby keeps it up, I can easily kill him and hide the evidence." Her sunny grin caused Jane and the nuns to chuckle, while the man in question merely began to look like his nemesis, the fish. Abby walked back the same way she came in, standing on the perimeter next to her picture-happy friend.

"Sister Lucy, would you mind driving the others back to the convent? I'm sure I can get a ride back to my hotel with Agent Lisbon's team. We still need to wait for the LEOs and CSUs. They're remarkably late; I expected at least one of them to be here by now." Her words seemed prophetic, for less than a minute later, the local LEOs and CSUs arrived to canvas the scene and do their normal work.

The majority of the team was still dumbfounded, but Jane stood there, listening to Abby prattle on about what seemed to be everything and nothing, a smirk on his face. Finally, something interesting!

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_A/N: Why yes, Sister Mary Clarence and her fellows of St. Francis are indeed from The Sister Act. I'm afraid I couldn't resist. Constructive criticism would be lovely!_


	2. Scarlet Arrivals

**Sorry this took longer to get out than I expected...I had...stuff come up, besides the expected finals and all.**

**Going to a highschool classmate's funeral, not my cup of tea...x.x'**

**RIP Alyssa, watch us and laugh, luv.**

**No, I don't own it!**

--

Jane didn't look up when someone sighed. It was obvious what they wanted, a part of the couch he was stretched out on, trying to nap. He stopped himself from reacting as the footsteps drew closer, but tightened his grip on the pillow imperceptibly. He was going to get his nap in, damn it!

But he was in fact surprised when instead of the pillow being ripped from his eyes, something every member of the team would do, except perhaps Van Pelt, he found his feet and lower legs being lifted up and then placed in a warm lap. This was different, for certain. The mentalist still made no move to show his wakeful state, curiosity getting the better of him. It was hard not to react when his shoes and socks were summarily taken off and his feet massaged. There were too many memories in the movements, and he stiffened.

"It's ok, Jane," The voice was feminine, but not Lisbon or Van Pelt, rather it was husky and low, tinged with a Southern drawl, very soothing, "You just looked like you wanted to relax and I wanted a seat, so I figured I'd help you relax while taking a seat. I'll stop if you want me to." He grinned crookedly into the pillow at this. It was just Abby, that NCIS forensic scientist they'd found casing the latest scene. He pulled the pillow off his head, deciding he didn't want his voice to be muffled when he spoke.

"It's quite alright, Abby, the massage feels lovely. It just-" he broke off, unsure how to continue. How did he explain his reaction without insulting her or bringing up too many painful memories? "Have you heard about Red John?"

"Yeah, he's one of the greatest unsolved cases here, right? His signature is a smiley face drawn in the victim's blood." Abby was too caught up in her recital to notice Jane's elevated breathing and stiffening. God, he'd forgotten about that part, how could he forget about that part, for pity's sake he slept under the damn smiley! "My forensic journal mentioned something about how what, five years ago now-" seven, he thought miserably, seven years ago now, "-it was claimed he was nearly tracked down by a psychic named Patrick..." further words were cut off by Jane's suddenly finding himself with 130 pounds of Abigail Scuito lying on top of him, hugging the daylights out of him.

"It was you, wasn't it? He-he killed your family. Oh, I'm so sorry...that's why my foot massage...I'm so sorry!" Fake platitudes and words meant to comfort her more than him, 'It was so long ago-I know they're in a better place' formed on his lips, then died. She wasn't the type to need them, not with how her voice was still soothing in his ears, her body weight warm against him. No, she wasn't one who needed to be comforted. She was a comforter.

She prompted a small sigh out of him, and impulse had him kissing her temple, tentatively wrapping his arms around her, returning the horizontal hug.

"Thank you, Abby," he breathed, _feeling_ her smile against his shoulder, she had pressed herself so close to him. But there was nothing lewd about the closeness of their embrace. Just comfort, like an over exuberant hug one would obtain from your mother-or your daughter. That thought made him tense again, but Abby's half murmured words about _something_ and her hand stroking through his curls just the same way Momma used to do finally lulled him off to sleep.

--

"No, Gibbs. I'm afraid I can't let you go." Gibbs kept up his level stare at Leon Vance. The Director was loathe to let him go 'gallivanting off to California', but he hadn't been given the full story yet.

"Abby happened on a body of a Marine while at the beach, and the police were called in. No one has heard from her since she first reported in. Do you _want _to be dealing with what-ever-his-name-is while we work to get Abby potentially freed from custody? You know as well as I that no matter what, if she's been arrested, her credibility as an expert witness is shot." Vance sighed at Gibbs' announcement, before stating briefly, "If you're that worried, go get her back here, Gibbs. We can't risk her not being able to give testimony. Every case we have in the works, let alone any in the future, would be blown to pieces."

Gibbs controlled his smirk as he left the office with its putrid orange walls. He just needed to pack, inform the team and catch the next flight; he'd already bought the plane ticket out. Hadn't done return tickets, since Lord knew when they'd be coming back. Three heads looked up from their work as he descended the stairs, blue eyes grim.

"Boss? You bought a plane ticket for California...is Abby in trouble?" Timothy McGee, computer geek as always, had already pulled up his recent purchases. Not too surprising; the MIT graduate had learned through the years to try to stay on top of what Gibbs was doing next, especially after the fiasco when he went to Mexico.

Ziva David just stared at him levelly, dark eyes serene and questioning. That it had been her being in trouble that brought him back still weighed on her, it seemed, or perhaps the Mossad officer still hurt from being separated from the team for four months, when they'd all been scattered to the winds. Gibbs rubbed his right hand at that thought; the first fingers still ached from being shot during the gun-fight two months ago, when their separation had finally been explained.

Anthony DiNozzo was looking frazzled and alarmed, an odd look for the normally always serene and calm Senior Agent. Gibbs realized why. The thought that his best friend and mother figure might be facing trouble without them was near to breaking Tony. Not that he would show it to anyone except Gibbs. "Tony, you okay?"

"Ye-yeah, Boss. I 'm fine, but that temp forensics guy is driving me insane. Get Abs back here quick, ok?" Gibbs knew that was the best he was going to get as an answer, and so let it lie. Tony had enough carefully hidden separation problems without his adding to them. "Course, Tony. I hopefully won't be gone more than a couple days. The plan is to run a joint investigation with whatever local LEOs Abby got involved in, so I'll be calling in information for you three to track down. Right now I'm the only one going out, but if needed, I'll have the rest of you haul out there. Bye, I've got to go tell Ducky and pack."

--

Lisbon viewed the tableau with an odd sort of jealousy. It wasn't that she was really jealous of Abby for cuddling with Jane, not precisely. It wasn't that she was jealous of Jane's obvious affection for the woman...it was more...she was jealous of the fact that Jane was actually letting Abby close. They'd barely known each other for six hours, yet Jane was letting her touch him and comfort him more than he had let _any _of the team for years.

It rankled, knowing he was more comfortable with this stranger than with his own team. Dammit, it hurt, watching from afar as his mask had dismantled itself, something she'd been trying to have happen for years now. The man needed to grieve; he needed to let himself move on. It wasn't healthy, what he was doing, bottling it all up and directing his whole being towards getting revenge on Red John. It just _couldn't_ be healthy.

Casing the scene had taken three and a half hours, driving to and from the scene to Abby's hotel for her to pack up necessities and change and come to headquarters had taken four hours itself. Abby had wanted to get right to work on the forensics, but CBI's background checks took longer than NCIS', seemingly, from her hurt expression when told that the results of a positive identification that she was _really_ who she said she was, credentials and all would take another two hours. Lisbon had been strongly willing to trust her, since she did have a badge and ID, but Cho and Rigsby had persuaded her to the 'safer' course.

Jane had been asleep for an hour, Abby never moving from where she was cuddled atop him except to send a number of lightning-quick texts, having disengaged her hands from around him to do so. The replies had made her grimace, sigh, smile, snicker and blush in turn. Lisbon wanted to know just what would cause the Goth woman to blush to the point of redness all over her body, but decided against it, it wasn't polite to pry. Cho interrupted his team-leader's musing, stepping up beside her to speak softly to her ear.

"Lobby says there's a man here asking for you, one Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS. Should we have them send him up?" The Asian man's eyes were dark with worry, more for potentially losing their case than anything else, Lisbon surmised.

"Yeah, send him up. If he's the one Abby was talking about, he'll provoke some sort of reaction out of her." Lisbon contemplated informing the other woman that her friend was coming up, but decided against it; better to see what their relationship was this way than before they had a chance to get their story straight.

The man walking in behind Rigsby instantly commanded attention, and obedience. It seemed engrained in every line of his body. Former military, perhaps even former Marine, just from his bearing. Hair was silver and close cut, eyes the same blue as Fairbanks'...perhaps this wasn't their unknown NCIS agent, but their dead Marine's father? But why hadn't he been introduced as such, and how hadn't he been intercepted by Grief Counseling instead of shepherded up to the bullpen?

The unknown man walked almost silently across the floor, stopping in front of Lisbon, eyes level. This was no grief-stricken father; there was no sight of red rims to his eyes at all. Must be that Agent Gibbs.

"Special Agent Gibbs. Might I presume you're Agent Lisbon?" At her nod, he held out a hand to shake, grasp firm and dry, a worker's calluses rasping against her smoother palm. His tight-lipped, polite nod turned to _somewhat_ of a smile as he spotted the pair on the couch. "If you'll excuse me...I suggest you cover your ears." With that cryptic statement he stepped beyond Lisbon, closer to the couch, taking out a still buzzing cellphone. His smile grew wide as he read what was on the screen, and painstakingly punched in five numbers. Abby's phone vibrated and the she flipped it open.

Lisbon then understood Gibbs' statement. In fact, she was surprised Abby's shout hadn't woken Jane, but he merely turned over on his side, the pillow he had been holding to his head now cuddled to his stomach. The ease with which the agent caught a near-flying Abby was testament to a long time working together. Lisbon couldn't help but smile at the over exuberant greeting the man was getting.

--

Abby sent a frazzled text of _"Where are you?!" _to Gibbs, and was surprised at the quick response. _"Here"_ Why, that little sneak! Still, she all but levitated off of Jane to avoid waking him before running headlong into Gibbs' arms. "Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs! You're here, you're here, you're here!"

His laugh vibrated through her chest, warm and familiar. "Yes, I'm here, I'm here, I'm here. Now you don't want to wake up your sleeping _friend_, now do you?" His voice was laced with that tone of command she'd come to expect plus that extra twist he laid on just for her, and she inwardly winced. Oh no. Gibbs thought she-! But she hadn't, she would never-!

"No, sir, he just needed comforting." She leaned closer, presumably to continue her hug, in reality to whisper in his ear, "He's like how you said you were...before you caught _their_ murderer." She felt him stiffen, and merely held him tighter. "That's why I was there...I was doing what I could to help him like I wish I'd been able to help you...but- it's been _years_ and _years_, not the one it was for you. He's hurting, bad. You need to help him. _We _need to help him." Gibbs sighed; he'd been caught in another one of Abby's wounded-bird schemes. But this one, much like the one with Jethro-the-dog, was one that they could really do something about.

"I'll see what I can do, Abs. But remember, the case comes first." She nodded into his shoulder, before stiffening in her turn as she felt the collar loosen around her neck. He'd been busy multitasking while she was talking, it seemed. She felt the approval in his gaze when the collar fully fell away. It had been her secret, the imprint on her neck. The low growl he let out made her smile. It was always nice to know he still wanted her.

"You're lucky I brought you another collar, little minx. There would be too many questions asked if the agents here saw this." His hand caressed her neck, running over the imprint of his name against her windpipe, and she stifled a whimper.

Deftly Gibbs buckled another collar around her neck. The weight of this one was more familiar, and his imperceptible tug on her leashing-ring made her smile. It was _his_ collar, the one he had made for her especially.

Lambskin was smooth and cool on her sweaty neck, and she knew it would slowly begin to stick and pull when she turned her head. But if he set it tight enough, it would simply stay on her neck, letting her turn her head without pain. Her fingers ghosted over his as they pulled away from her neck, letting her trace the familiar collar.

There were no spikes; he'd decreed something more feminine for her first collar from him. She hadn't minded; it was still a collar from _Gibbs_. If he had made it bright pink with sparkles she wouldn't have minded! But he'd been kind. Simple black leather, her favorite, adorned with miniature pyramid studs turned to look like diamonds and two lengths of heavy-duty jewelry chain wrapping around the top and bottom. The leashing-ring's rivets held the only color, from their gemstone covers, the color of his eyes.

Bemusedly, she realized she must have been anticipating this collar, everything she wore matched it, the blue-and-black 'Death's Joker' shirt and blue plaid miniskirt, even down to her blue flipflops and black cuffs, another gift from him, though simpler in design, just single-strap black with leashing rings and diamonéd-pyramid studs. Signs of ownership that no one realized.

Except Tony, he perhaps might realize it by now, Tim likely had no clue, but Ziva certainly did, Tony was just a little bit slower on the draw than the Mossad agent when it came to that sort of thing, even though there had been the case where Gibbs had-but that, she realized, was immaterial here.

Slowly, she came back to herself and her surroundings. Gibbs had already turned her, placing a proprietary hand on her hip. Lisbon seemed curious, Van Pelt perhaps…mildly appalled, Rigsby and Cho pretended not to care, all the while Jane slept on.

--

"So," Gibbs' voice was gravelly, likely with sleep deprivation rather than any particular habit of smoking, "what do you have?"

"The two of you," Rigsby said, completely cutting off Lisbon's intended remark, and she hastily shot him a look before he could say anything else, "Currently we have no leads into why Fairbanks died. Our ME still hasn't ruled out natural death, such as a heart attack." Gibbs just stared at her, and the hardened CBI agent felt herself wilting a little, before straightening her spine, she wasn't about to let him run roughshod over her like that just because he glared a little!

"A healthy twenty-five year old Marine dies of a _heart attack_? Unless it was induced by something, it's not possible, and the inducement makes it murder." His words were scathing, and his tone fierce, but Lisbon noticed how his hand still remained gentle on Abby's hip, and how his voice changed when he murmured to his forensic scientist, "I don't like how you were the one to discover him, Abs. Something's hinky about that."

"You're not one for coincidences, are you, Agent Gibbs?" The voice was slightly muffled, but Patrick Jane's movements were that of an awake and alert man. He slowly rolled himself back over and upright, facing the silver-haired man, "Something we agree on." Jane's eyes widened as his hand, put out for a shake, was violently yanked until he was nearly standing on the taller NCIS agent's feet.

"You don't tell them my secrets, I won't tell them yours." The man's voice was good for menace, Jane quickly realized, and was probably equally frightening barking out words like a drill sergeant. He didn't even bother verbally replying, just squeezed the hand holding his for a moment, then relaxed his grip, to the point where he nearly fell as Gibbs released him. Jane wondered to himself why he was so worried about Gibbs' threat, everything he had told Abby the team already knew about. Still, an inner knowledge told him to be wary, those few things that he had told no one-something in Gibbs' eyes said he knew them as well as Jane did. All the little secrets.

"_Daddy, why does Mommy have a gun? Guns are bad!" Blue eyes stared up at him, accusingly, curiously, the curiosity winning out, as it always would, she was her father's child, after all...  
_

_"Daddy, are you sure all little girls go to heaven? Miz Robert says that if I don't go to confession before I die, I won't go to heaven, I'll go to pur-ga-tory." Her eyes were wide, scared, like they had been from her nightmare the night before...before...  
_

_"Pat, why did you? I'm scared, honey, he might come after you." Hands, warm and tender on his cheeks as she turned him to look at her again, made him face her pain-filled gaze...  
_

_"Patty, what's this gun for? Are you sure? I'm worried, sweetheart." Her distaste for the cold steel, tempered by her warring worry and growing anxiety, and the inner knowledge that they actually might need it, grudging acceptance...  
_

_ "Patty, love, I-I-oh, God, how do I say this-I'm pregnant." Her dark eyes were bright with excitement, her hair almost sparking in the light from the overhead lamp, and he found he couldn't feel anything except joy...  
_

_"I know you're worried about us, Pat, but you did promise to go, and you're so close to catching him. Amazing what a role-reversal, huh, my mindreader? It's the hormones talking. I love you, now get to work, buster!" Kelly was clinging to him, begging him not to go, but Tracy peeled her golden-haired daughter off him, dropping an affectionate kiss on his lips, her eyes showing the worry she wouldn't allow to be visible in front of their daughter...he kissed her once, hard, running a hand down Kelly's hair, dropping a kiss to her forehead and Tracy's barely visible baby-bump before picking up his briefcase and walking out the door...  
_

_Tracy…Kelly…_his heart quailed as the memories threatened to swamp him. Only two things, no, three, held him grounded. Gibbs' sudden hand on his shoulder, Abby's fingers twining between his own, and Lisbon's concerned look. He could feel himself shaking.

"Easy, soldier," Abby's words were light, calming, and her bright grin disarming, leaving the CBI team unbalanced, perfectly unaware of their mentalist's breakdown, "Sure, meeting Gibbs here is a life-changing experience, but there's no need to go all to pieces." Jane sank back down to the couch, covering his sudden weariness with simple laziness, dragging Abby with him, Gibbs surprisingly letting her go.

The next words from Abby had nothing to do with the case, and she had planned them that way, gave Jane more time to center himself, and hide the lingering tremors, though the Goth's gut feeling was that Lisbon, if no one else, noticed the mentalist's trembling hands as they 'arrogantly' ran through his hair.

"So, Jane, since we don't know much about this area, would you be willing to help us find a good place have dinner at? Since this is gonna be the last chance we have for a non-takeout dinner for a while, I wager. Or at the very least, a good coffee shop, Gibbs is gonna need one soon." Abby turned to the man still holding her, and asked plainly, "How did you survive the flight? I know full well the complementary coffee is nowhere strong enough for you."

"Easy," Gibbs' lips quirked into a smirk, "caffeine pill. I've got more if you need them, Duck actually managed to get me a small bottle." Her answering grin was all that was needed at the moment, as her attention was turned back to the still unsteady man beside her.

"Oh, well, there's the Zipangu, if you like sushi and there's Lime Lite for general American, those are considered to be the best here. We've got a couple coffee places, but no Starbucks that I know of, if you like that." Jane was slowly losing the haunted look that had gathered in his eyes as he talked of trivial things, the tremors throughout his body easing.

"Lime Lite, I think. Don't really want sushi today. You can come with us, if you want, Jane." The mentalist grunted noncommittally, ignoring Abby's words, and the commotion such words caused his team; they were shocked. These two newcomers, these two _Feds_ invited Jane, of all people, to dinner? Sure, one of them wasn't a full Fed, but just a forensic scientist for the feds, but still! Why not Cho, he'd been _in_ the Marines, at least he could swap stories with Gibbs, who certainly had been a jarhead himself. Or at least Lisbon, she was team leader and all. Jane? The freaking _mentalist_? It was insane.

And it was exactly what they did, gathering up the blonde's things and all but shepherding him out the door. The majority of the team was too busy to note the look Gibbs gave Lisbon, but she noticed it, noticed and returned it for good measure. She'd be there to take care of him, when they thought he needed it…if he wanted it, that night.


	3. Crimson Memories

**What's this?! A chapter from Lesa?! About nine months overdue?! Why yes, yes it is! I'm so so sorry, everyone. The story of mine that gets the most... everything, and it takes the longest for me to update. Go figure. Bit of a BYOT warning, and we should be getting more of the case in later chapters, and will the rest of NCIS ever get to California? We'll see. We'll see. Enjoy! Thank you everyone for all your reviews and alerts!  
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"Fresno? Who would want to live in freaking Fresno? So far away from the beach, the babes! Oh, man, Probie, California girls really are the best: buxom, blonde, brilliant." Anthony DiNozzo sighed, leaning back and lacing his hands behind his head, content with his daydreaming.

Timothy "Probie" McGee wisely chose not to reply to his teammate, instead returning to his novel - for once, not only did he have the downtime to write while at his desk, but the words were actually coming to him when he wasn't in front of his typewriter! He knew that anything he said would be taken the wrong way, not only by Tony but by Ziva David, who looked ready to murder. Then again, it wasn't hard for Ziva to look murderous. A soft clearing of her throat rapidly had DiNozzo backpedalling.

"Zee-vah, you didn't let me finish." From anyone else, McGee would have asked for cheese to go with the whine. But it was just Tony being Tony, "California girls may be buxom, blonde and brilliant, _but _-and there is a but there, mark my words - they have nothing on completely gorgeous, utterly ravishing, crazy-brilliant Israeli ninja-chicks." McGee looked over to see Ziva's expression. Her dark eyes had grown warmer, and the blank look had flitted into a smile. The smile grew coy as she took Tony's flimsy lead-off and ran with it.

"Well, To-ny," she exaggerated, "Let _me_ finish _my_ statement then. Israeli men are intelligent, brave and self-sacrificing… but," McGee almost winced at the puppy-dog expression Tony was giving her as he waited, eager, "they do not hold a candle to street-smart, over-valiant, stubbornly loyal Italian-American movie-buffs." Her hand was buried in her hair as she tilted her head to the side, smirking. Her wink nearly undid both Tony and McGee. The latter thought it was ridiculous, the level to which the pair had taken their flirting. First two months back, they could barely deal with each other! Now it was like they'd spent those months apart together, in every sense of the word, instead of on opposite sides of the globe.

McGee couldn't take it any longer, and stood. It was one thing to steal their words for Lisa/Tommy dialogue. It was something else to have to actually be there while they were this mushy. Ziva _never_ was mushy, ever. Except now, he realized. "I'm going down to see Ducky, lovebirds," he quipped, picking up his file folders, and wishing, again, that Gibbs had taken him to rescue Abby - or that Abby had never gone to her bowling competition. Either way, he would have some relief without having to go to Autopsy. But his life just seemed to want to mock him. It was either the love-birds or listening to another of Ducky's stories… the stories won out.

"Remember rule twelve, now, children," was his parting shot on the way to the elevator. "That's okay, McDateless, Gibbs knows. Heck, Gibbs approves!" Tony's words were teasing and soft, yet somehow reached the junior agent just the same. Tim merely sighed, and rested his head on the instrument panel in the elevator, relishing the coolness of steel on what was likely a tomato-red forehead.

When Gibbs got back, he was asking for a raise… and the name of a good dating service.

--

"…so then, it turns out her lover was her husband's commander's _wife_, not her husband's commander, so her husband goes to get revenge on the wife, and…" Abby stopped, and Jane noticed her deliberate look at Gibbs before continuing, his fork-holding right hand seeming to fist around the utensil and "knock" towards the woman, "…and Kate went undercover as the wife so we could catch him before he actually killed anyone."

"Kate? Who is Kate?" Jane asked, ignoring all of the socially 'nice' comments that might be expected, 'It's so nice that the SEAL was able to be reunited with his son' or 'Wow, that's confusing!' Jane went right to the heart of the matter, the issue that interested him. Why the hand motion before the woman's name? And just who was this 'Kate', neither had mentioned her before.

"Kate was a member of the team who died in the line of duty a few years ago," Gibbs said calmly, sipping at his neat bourbon. Abby's free hand gently squeezed his forearm, before she casually reached for her own drink, something called a Strangelove, it seemed to involve a lot of artificial cherry, judging from the scent Jane could pick up over the heavy tang of alcohol. Jane himself was already on his third Tootsie Roll, having ignored Gibbs' glare when he ordered it; he was a full grown adult, if he wanted to get hammered, he would get hammered!

The older man's gaze was fierce again, though it softened at Abby's gentle throat-clearing. It was as if Gibbs was testing him, balancing the need to speak of something with the ability for him to trust what the man was about to say would remain private. The need to tell won out, it seemed - or perhaps it was Abby's hand smoothing down his arm to squeeze the older man's hand, before drifting away. The woman could bring warmth to a block of ice in the middle of Antarctica.

"Kelly was eight when she died," Gibbs' voice was soft, even… like it was hiding the same pain that Jane _knew_ had flared into his eyes - into his entire being - at the other man's words. How had he _known_ about Kelly? "We were almost to our ten year anniversary… would have been the next month." The other man gulped down his bourbon like it was water, stopping only when Abby seized his wrist in her hand and slowly guided it down to the table, unwrapping his fingers from the glass to lace them into her own. Gibbs breathed deeply once, twice, then continued, voice surprisingly level.

"Shannon saw something she shouldn't have about a drug deal, and reported it. The cartel took her out, Kelly too. I didn't even find out until a week later - was stuck in the middle of Desert Storm. Tried two suicide runs until my buddy knocked me out, hoping I'd stop," Gibbs chuckled ruefully, "I never got a chance to thank him… died himself while I was still in the coma. When I got back here, after the funeral, I tracked down the bastard that ordered the hit and killed him. Joined NCIS - NIS then - to get the same for others: justice."

Jane smiled grimly, _A little story-telling time, huh?_ It wouldn't work with him - didn't have much to tell, didn't have an Abby to comfort him as he told it. So he wouldn't be telling. It wasn't like a Fed wouldn't be able to easily look his whole background up; it all had to be in his file - except the hospital, of course. "What do you want me to say? I'm sorry? Oh, that's terrible, but I'm glad you found peace? There, I've said them, what more do you want from me?" Abby recoiled at the menace in his tone, and Gibbs went back to glaring at him. Neither spoke.

"No, Jane. They want to hear your story." The voice made him whirl around. _Teresa?!_

--

It had been hard, letting Jane go with those strangers. Abby seemed nice enough, but for her and - Lisbon still didn't quite believe it - her lover to whisk him away without as much as a by-your-leave, or even giving him the chance to protest, was akin to a kidnapping. Or so it had been in Cho and Rigsby's eyes. Van Pelt and Lisbon herself had viewed it differently. Perhaps because they were female.

There was… something about the pair of Gibbs and Abby that would be – good – for Jane. In what way, neither woman could appropriately give words, but some sort of… connection… between the two men, with Abby as a common denominator between the two. The entire team knew Jane needed to just _get over_ the whole thing with his wife and daughter dying. Now, that may sound cold – but it was affecting his work. And when something affected his work, it affected their cases. Simply put: if murderers went free because Jane couldn't get his head on straight, his head would roll.

So maybe this was good for him – or at least the female contingent of Team Lisbon thought so. The males… not so much. But at least Gibbs had given her a prime tipoff for what she should do that night. Mentally giving a goodbye to her plans to curl up with a tub of mint-chocolate-chip and a _Tom and Jerry _marathon, Theresa Lisbon instead found herself stuck in a corner booth of Lime Lite, Grace Van Pelt having taken the seat beside her so both could not-so-subtly view the trio of Gibbs, Abby and Jane. Cho and Rigsby had been left out completely. Didn't want them going over and pulling Jane out at the first sign of 'trouble', this wasn't an undercover op, or anything the mentalist needed rescuing from; besides, Gibbs had been a Gunnery Sergeant, meant he outranked Cho, a mere Lance Corporal, and could surely out shout and out intimidate Rigsby.

Van Pelt had been startled at Teresa's sliding out of the booth, but the younger agent hadn't seen Gibbs directly look at the pair of them and signal with a flick of his eyes to the empty chair at the table. The table was situated comfortably on the back wall – Gibbs and Abby would be able to look at all the doors, while Jane couldn't see a thing coming. Perfect for this. His agitated voice carried over to Teresa clearly, _"What do you want me to say? I'm sorry? Oh, that's terrible, but I'm glad you found peace? There, I've said them, what more do you want from me?"_

Oh, wonderful. He was at that level of drunk. Just what she wanted to deal with, a snarky Patrick Jane. Normal Patrick Jane could be hard enough, let alone when he was like this! Her voice in reply caused him to whip around, gray eyes wide in shock. She let a small smile flit to her face, pulling out the chair next to him with one hand, pulling his drink out of his hand with the other. The CBI agent sat and sipped at his Tootsie Roll, ignoring his incredulous stare. "We've got a case, Jane, you can't come in tomorrow with a hangover," she chided, enjoying the sweet flavor of the pure alcohol beverage. Why did he – ah.

"Tootsie Rolls, the real ones, they were your Kelly's favorite candy, weren't they?" his stare turning into a heated glare confirmed her theory. Gibbs chose this moment to gently insert himself back into the conversation, before anything could happen – Jane was either about to kill or kiss the CBI agent, and while the kissing wouldn't be bad, it would be for all the wrong reasons. He'd learned that through much experience and too many marriages. "My Kelly loaded me down with Tootsie Rolls every time I shipped out, and all the care packages from home included them."

Jane was quiet, staring off into the distance, clearly thinking. His mouth opened once, twice, and then he spoke as if he was being condemned to death, "Tracy… Tracy begged me not to take on the Red John case. Told me she was afraid he would come after me, she didn't want to lose me, or for Kelly to live without her Daddy. Everything seemed fine, I mean, sure, I was probably a little cocky about how close we were to catching him… but the PR folk with the department told me that it would be the best way to reassure the people, if I was all about how close we were to catching him," his tone grew scathing, "of course, they weren't the ones that had him come after their family!" If he still had his Tootsie Roll at the moment, it would either have been drained dry or thrown against the wall, Teresa wasn't certain which.

He was frighteningly matter of fact, or so it seemed in the beginning. Best way to keep himself separated from what he was talking about, "Wasn't the first time – he had left warnings around the house, that was why I got Tracy the gun, and they had twenty-four hour protection. But that last show… he must have planned it ahead of time, this was no spur of the moment working. Slipped in between the patrols, had to have staked out the house for days, hacked into the police database, because he _knew_ the normal in-house officer was sick, and Tracy agreed that they didn't need one, if it was just going to be one night. No one asked my opinion about that, of course not!"

Jane's voice dropped down to a whisper from the near-shout of a moment ago, "He knew Tracy was pregnant. _Bastard_ knew Tracy was pregnant, despite the fact that Tracy hadn't told anyone, hadn't even gone to the OB-GYN, except for stopping by her office after Kelly's yearly checkup, since I was afraid of him finding out. Kelly and I were the only ones that knew about the baby, and Kelly knew she wasn't supposed to tell anyone. She didn't tell anyone, my good girl, always listened to her Daddy when it was important things… just like Tracy that way." He half smiled, pained, and continued on, forcing the words through a tight throat, "I – I requested it be kept out of the reports, and any articles. She was five and a half months in…" he broke off, not noticing Abby reaching out to grab his hand, too wrapped in the memories.

"As soon as I saw the note, I knew. Didn't even need to see the smilie. Just the note…" Jane gave a choking sob, and free hand fisting, slamming down onto the table top, silverware and plates rattling. The sound seemed to jolt Jane back into himself for the merest of moments, the blank look gone from his eyes to go razor sharp in pain. He buried his head in the crook of his elbow, shoulders shaking once, twice, before turning his haunted gaze to Gibbs'.

"He – he killed Kelly first, that much was clear, her face was too peaceful to have heard anything of a struggle," he laughed darkly, "we always did tease that she slept like – like the dead. He… tormented Tracy… oh God, he practically _tortured_ her." Tears rose in both women's eyes, and Gibbs pulled a chair around to use his body to block Jane from sight, of the rest of the restaurant, Abby seated in his lap, her hand still clenched in Jane's as the mentalist tightened his grip painfully. The three were ready to tell him to stop – but there was no way to stop him, now he had to let it all out, the anguish and horror that had formed to a weeping, oozing hole in his mind.

The words came out slow now, like they were the last words Jane would ever speak, "We – we were going to name him Isaac… after Tracy's father… Isaac Owen… after both our fathers… like Kelly was Kelly Rose, my mother and Tracy's. So they could know their grandparents even though all were dead… Never – never expected them to meet their namesakes so soon," the laugh was harsh, dark and pained, words faster now, as the pain got to be too much, practically running words together in his haste to get them out, "when I got there, Isaac was sprawled on Tracy's belly – I had just felt him kick for the first time the day before,_ through_ that belly, and there he was _lying on it_. _Son of a bitch_ sliced open my wife to make sure there was no way our son would survive." Jane breathed deeply; face red from screaming, all façade of a gentile, kind and bumbling mentalist gone in the face of his torment. Teresa thought he might be done. Gibbs' hand on her arm had her questioning his intent – didn't he see Patrick needed _comfort_?!

"The – " Jane spoke again, not much quieter, a hysterical note taking his voice, "the kicker is, Tracy had a gun under her pillow. I gave it to her after the first attack, just in case – and it was _right there_, but she never used it. I – I'll never know why. She could've _shot_ the _bastard_, and they might still all be alive!" He choked, finally succumbing to the tears that had been streaming silently down his face. Abby leaned forward before Teresa could even think, pulling the man to her. Jane was settled in her lap as she sat on the floor; she rocked the larger man as if he was a child, just letting him sob into her shoulder. Gibbs stayed in his seat, a watchful guardian, hand running through Abby's hair to rest, firm, on Jane's shoulder.

A hand on Teresa's shoulder made her whirl, hand on the butt of her gun. Van Pelt jumped back. Teresa chided herself for her jumpiness, forgetting that she had a very good reason to be jumpy. Gibbs hadn't moved, that should've tipped her off that nothing was wrong. Teresa took a moment to glance around the rest of the… empty? restaurant. How had it emptied so fast? Van Pelt's tight smile, overlaid with the pain all were feeling in some form, said it all. Her junior agent needed a raise, or a commendation or something. To clear out an entire restaurant to allow a very valuable consultant and friend – wait, where had the friend part come from? – the space to have a mental breakdown was very sweet. Van Pelt didn't say anything, merely taking Jane's now empty seat for herself, just being there.

It was all they could do, be there.


End file.
